


Speech Patterns

by Qpenguin98



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Cuddles, I guess I mean not really much but its there, M/M, Nightmares, Sadstuck, dammit theyre cute, lots and lots of cuddles and kisses, talking to yourself, well here the tags are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:37:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qpenguin98/pseuds/Qpenguin98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and you have a bit of a problem. Well, you wouldn't call it a problem, but everyone else does, so let's just say it's a problem. Year two of your meteor life has begun, and you've taken up talking to yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speech Patterns

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have a bit of a problem. Well, you wouldn't call it a problem, but everyone else does, so let's just say it's a problem. Year two of your meteor life has begun, and you've taken up talking to yourself. Not the everyday smack on the face, "Oh my god, I'm so fucking stupid." The legitimate conversation type. You'll be thinking of some really cool shit and no one'll be around, so you'll start up a conversation. "Dude, check out this comic I made for Sweet Bro." "Dave, that's as majestic as Karkat's ass." "Fucking right?" Or you'll have some freaky as hell nightmare and, once again, there's no one around. You'd rather not think about those conversations. They always end up with you sobbing needlessly into your pillow. But, they do happen. And these are all conversations that you would deem real, complete with different voices. Rose thinks you're using it as a coping mechanism. Coping with your Bro's death. That is, of course, complete and utter horse shit. Striders don't use 'Coping Mechanisms.' Though you're still broken up about it, you're don't need to cope. You've accepted, best you can, that he's dead. And he won't be coming back. Ever again.

Okay, so maybe you're still not over it, but that's normal, right? You don't just magically get over important people's deaths in two years. But you stand by your point that talking to yourself is normal. Sometimes you just need to chat, and nobody's around. You could seek someone out, but that means risking refusal, so you stick with your brain. No harm done.

It's no surprise when you get a nightmare. They're recurring, pretty standard. Leaving you shaking and terrified. But tonight, it's different. Separate memories strewn together, and it isn't all that unpleasant. You begin to think you'll just have a nice dream full of good times with your Bro. And then, it happens. His death. From every single angle, like one of those carnival fun houses. There's some sort of wall between you and him, and you're pounding and screaming, trying to get through. It ends up bloody as the wall disappears. You trip over your own feet running forward, continuing even after his body vanishes. You wake up tangled in bedsheets, crying silently. It turns vocal as you sit up, wailing into your hands, subconsciously trying to muffle your sounds. Sobs turn to shudders as you regain control of your emotions, hoping to whatever the fuck afterlife guy exists that no one heard. It's unlikely, but possible. Shaking hands slide shades over your face, dimming the little light in the room.

"So what happened?" you ask yourself, voice shaking, thinking up the right words. "Nightmare. Fucked up one. It was all deceiving, making me think I was gonna have a good night for once and then, BOOM. Shit got deep as Rose's therapist clipboard. It was like that dramatic scene in tragedy movies where you can't move and the person's just dying in front of you and the camera keeps taking these wicked angle shots that make everything worse. Then the cam stops and tragedy character can move again and they run towards the dead person, screaming and shit, and then the body poofs and the dream ends. Just. Like. That."

You're crying again when you hear it. A noise from your doorway. Your eyes flick over and you freeze, attempting to silence yourself. This works fucking wonders as you cry harder. Karkat looks tired, staring at you. "H-how long have you been there?" "A while." Theres no dumbass metaphor. He walks over to you, arms crossed. You look away, rubbing aggressively at your face.

"Rose was right."

He's got to be fucking kidding.

"You've got to be fucking kidding. You stand in that doorway for fuck knows how long, watching me break my ass up about some stupid as shit dream, and you're gonna tell me Rose was right? That I'm using some bullshit excuse of a coping mechanism to deal with my brother's death? That's the most fucked up thing I ever heard said. Jesus dicks Karkat, get some better consolation words."

He sits on your bed, raising an eyebrow at you. "...But really, how long were you there for." Karkat laughs for a second. "Shit Dave, how stressed about your coolkid persona are you? If you have to know so badly, I've been here pretty much since your bitch ass woke up. So I heard all about your nightmare... Strider, you do realize we're not gonna bite if you talk to us, right? I mean, Rose might end up doing her creepy psychoanalysis game, but no one's gonna flip their shit because you want to talk about feelings. I mean, that dream? That's fucked up six ways to your human Sunday." He's trying his best. Really, he's doing a good job. "Karkatoes, I know. But I mean, why shove some meaningless memory in your faces? It's not like I can do anything to change it. Guardian deaths are 'predestined,' so there's no use whining about it all the time. It doesn't matter."

Karkat looks about ready to shove you into the wall. You shake your head a little and laugh. Flopping back onto your bed, you shove your shades up onto your head. "Look man, I don't know what you're freaking out about, but I'm fine. Talking to yourself is fine. Normal people used to do it all the time on Earth. Granted, they usually ended up getting sent to phych, but they were fine. It's not like I'm talking to an imaginary Bro. Then I'd let you worry. Oho man, you don't even know. Be glad it's not fucking that. I told that fucker everything. We strifed out any bad feelings, and it was the actual best." You steady your voice before speaking again. "I didn't realize you could miss someone so much."

He takes your hand in his, rubbing slow circles on the top. You squeeze it tightly, grounding yourself. His hand is warm, and it you're about to sit up when he lays down, wrapping his-oh. He's cuddling you, arms around your waist, spooning the ever living fuck out of you. So you meld into him, forming your spine to fit his front. You don't know the last time you've cuddled someone. But you know it was when you were little, nightmares and then crawl into bed with your Bro little. This sends a flood of emotions through your chest, and you remember why you've always hated nighttime. It makes you feel vulnerable, open. And you feel ridiculous trying to cover up your tears. Karkat softly kisses the back of your neck, squeezing you in tighter. "It's okay, you're alright, I'm not leaving. Just let it the hell out Dave." So you do, turning to bury your face in his shoulder and sobbing like the fucking child you are. You cling to him, arms gripped around his back, clutching the fabric tightly. He rubs up and down your spine and you fucking melt in his arms. A mess of tears and wails and shudders are you, no real thought process, only body contact. And you hate it. Letting him, of all people, see you this way. Crying into his body. But it feels so good and it feels so right and you can't form any thoughts, so your body moves on autopilot. You pull your head back, staring into his eyes for a second before kissing him. It's wet, sloppy, disgusting, and so not you. None of this matters because you're crying that ugly cry, slamming lips on lips, and he's holding you so tight you feel like you might break if he lets go. Karkat knows you're not thinking straight, so when your eyes widen with recognition, he just kisses you better, actually molding lips together. You shake and pull back, touching his face, and you have no fucking clue what you're doing but it's stopping your crying, so you keep on.

"Dave." You don't respond, closing your eyes instead. "Strider..." Shaking your head, his fingers slide up your neck, rubbing through your hair. "Dave, come on." Your chest heaves. If these emotions don't get themselves in the check lane soon, you're going to be physically ill. Hands scramble to drag your shades down, and Karkat takes your shaking palm in his fingers. A few deep breaths and the straight face is set. "Whatcha need, Vantas? More smooches from the resident Strider? Seems you've got a little crush. With a capital Flush." You can see him mentally face palm, and you know he'll drop it. Exactly like you want him to. "Shut up Strider. Just go the fuck to sleep." "With you? Would you look at that. I got Karkat Vantas in my bed. Who knows what could ha-" He cuts you off with his lips. You take the opportunity to shut up, and snuggle up next to him, and he moves to take the shades off. You grab his wrist. "Please." He nods slowly, kissing you again. "Just don't get stupid imprints, fuckwad." You smile and close your eyes, letting yourself drift off, feeling the safest you've felt in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> THERE WILL COME A DAY WHEN I DONT WRITE SADSTUCK  
> BUT TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY  
> (there will also come a day when im not a lazy asshat and end my fics in something other than sleep, but today isnt that day either)  
> this took like 2 weeks because I kept procrastinating  
> im so sorry  
> its so short  
> good lord  
> sad times at ridgemont high yall  
> also, for the comedy bit, daves snark is fucking FUN TO PLAY WITH AT TIMES  
> THE ROSES CLIPBOARD BIT WAS BEST


End file.
